Just Like Him
by Rabenschnabel
Summary: Barty breaks his father's mind control early and goes off to seek his master. Unsuccessful in his search, he decides that killing the Boy-Who-Lived is the next best thing on the list. What he didn't expect was to end up a foster father to a neglected child and thus, 5 years later, a very different Harry Potter turns up at Hogwarts.
1. 1

**AN: Since my main WiP is very slow-paced and detailed and I'm already 3 chapters ahead, I gave myself a treat by starting with this story! **

**It's very dear to my heart and my own take on the "Someone takes Harry away from the Dursleys and makes everything better" trope.**

-o-

**Chapter 1**

What got him every time was the simple things like feeling the breeze on his face, watching the clouds fly by or, in this case, listening to children play. It had all been so far away all these years.

It had been about seven months since Bartemius Crouch Sr. had tragically died of a particularly nasty case of wizard flu. At least that's what it said on the death certificate, not that anyone cared enough to look too deep into it. Few people had come to his small ministry-funded funeral– his vault having been locked up with no named heirs.

Nobody had noticed the broken young man under an invisibility cloak, his constant companion for the last 5 years, hidden in the last row. After the few people who had come had left, there had been no one to witness him spit on his father's grave and Apparate away on the spot.

Half a year he had looked everywhere for his master, his _true_ father; followed half-heard rumours, heeded ill-gotten advice and always, always came up blank. The fruitless search was maddening and worse still, none of his master's old followers who had walked free were still true, none of them. Traitors all.

Thus disillusioned, Barty had made the only decision he thought adequate: he was going to find the thrice-blasted Boy-Who-Lived and he was going to finish what his master had started. Maybe that would lure him out of hiding.

It had taken him two weeks to find out that the boy was not in wizarding society and another two to _Imperio_ the right people in the muggle world to find out where the old man had placed the boy.

Muggle relatives! Of all the idiotic ideas!

That bumbling old fool must have been very sure in the triumph of the Light, indeed, to have put the boy out of sight of all those who might protect him.

He'd noticed the blood wards when he'd arrived outside the frightfully cookie cutter style house that night, of course, but little children didn't stay indoors all the time.

Having watched the house until the door opened and spit out a fat, huge, mountain of a boy with blond hair and blue eyes and Barty had felt positively affronted that someone could make the attributes he shared look so, so… _distorted_. For a moment, he wanted to kill the boy right there and then for being a blight on wizardkind but then, another boy stepped timidly out of the door, shielding his face from the bright summer sun with a bony hand.

He was small, scruffy and the kind of painfully thin that even his washed-out baggy school uniform couldn't hide. While the fat boy had a shining new backpack, the small one had an old, dirty shopping bag from Tesco's for his school things and Barty snorted at the absurdity of it all.

The saviour of the Light, reduced to a small huddled creature being shoved all the way to school by his fat whale of a cousin? And all that right under Dumbledore's long pointy nose? Talk about cosmic irony.

He was watching the school during break now, enjoying being outside even after half a year on the run and listening to the delighted giggling of merry children. Choosing to be disillusioned now rather than under an invisibility cloak for maximim freedom, he wondered why he hadn't just killed the boy yet. Just a bit of pointing, a quick incantation, and poof, boy saviour no more.

Then he looked at the small figure standing alone in a corner of the school yard, desperately trying not to stick out and damn it all, but Barty felt a pang of… something in his chest. Feelings had been hard after Azkaban, especially since he had spent the next years living under the Imperious curse so he wasn't _entirely_ sure he even had any feelings anymore.

Seemed he did though, because something tugged at his heart when four bigger boys, led by the great big whale, cornered the boy saviour and beat the stuffing out of him. Then, the boy started running, faster than Barty had anticipated given his sorry condition, but still, two of the bigger boys were catching up.

Just when they were about to reach him, there was a resounding crack and the boy appeared on the school roof.

"Interesting," Barty's voice, rough with disuse, commented detachedly.

Apparition as a form of Accidental Magic was quite a feat. Not a one in a million thing, but definitely way up there. There might be another way to go about this yet.

The boy, in the meantime, looked scared out of his wits, perched atop the roof and shouting something panicked down to a hurriedly summoned teacher who looked absolutely livid.

Yes, maybe… just maybe, he could make this work.

-o-

He waited for the boy in the park the cousins had travelled through this morning. The great big lump of a kid had run straight home as fast as his little hooves would carry him– presumably to tattle and watch in glee as the boy saviour was punished.

Soon enough, the little boy rounded a corner and walked with small but steady steps homewards. He was looking rather green in the face, clutching a suspiciously blue letter to his chest. A report, probably?

Barty was sitting on a bench, still disillusioned, and thus made a double take when the boy stopped just as he reached him. He wasn't ready to be pierced by an intense stare from those haunted forest-green eyes. How could a child this young look so weary of the world?

"Who are you hiding from?" The boy's voice was small but his curiosity evident. Anything to prolong the inevitable, he guessed.

"You," Barty answered simply.

"Me? But I'm just Harry."

"Is that your name? Harry? Listening to that great tub of lard, one might have guessed you were called Freak."

Giggling a little when Barty insulted the other boy the boy saviour's expression soured soon enough.

"No, I'm Harry," he insisted. "And one day, I will make them call me that."

"Why are they so awful to you?"

"I'm not supposed to talk about it to the neighbours, but I guess you're from out of town?" Barty nodded. "I can… _do_ things. Make things happen. Weird things. I ended up on the school roof today."

"I saw that," Barty admitted. "I was very impressed. Not many young wizards or witches can Apparate at your age age, accidental magic or not."

The boy's forehead scrunched up.

"Aunt Petunia says I'm not allowed to use the m-word, otherwise she'll wash my mouth with soap again."

"What a horrid woman," Barty commented, affronted on his behalf. "Reminds me of my father. Dreadful man. Preferred the stick over the carrot."

"I'd like to try a carrot," Harry said. "They make a nice cracking sound when people bite them. I just wonder whether my teeth would be strong enough. They keep breaking."

He opened his mouth and Barty saw his little milk teeth all brittle and his gums all red and swollen. Could a young boy in this day and age actually have scurvy? Especially a wizard?

"That looks terribly painful… how come no one noticed that?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "I told Aunt Petunia that it hurts but I can get used to it. It's better than when Uncle Vernon uses the belt because I complain too much. I just let the bread get soggy in my mouth instead of chewing when I get some."

"Huh," Barty merely answered.

He liked children. Always had. It had been a terrible bummer to find out he didn't fancy girls at _all_ at school because he had, rather desperately, wanted to be a father. Be better than his own sperm donor of a father, probably? Something like that.

And now here this little lost boy was standing, desperately trying to delay his confrontation with his muggle tormentors.

"Say… would you like me to take you away?"

The boy's eyes immediately narrowed.

"Are you one of them creeps Aunt Petunia keeps warning Dudley about? Those who fancy little boys and do unspeakable things to them?"

Barty snorted. "I don't think anyone could take your cousin away if they tried."

The boy giggled a little, then sobered again. "Where would you take me? And… why would you take me?"

"As for the why– I'm a wizard, just like you." To demonstrate, Barty cast a _Wingardium Leviosa_ on the boy and had him float up a couple feet. "You can learn this too once you're eleven. There's a school for people like us."

"People like us," the boy repeated, still awed by his casual display of magic. "And would they like me there?"

"Well, I suppose," Barty told him. "I suppose no one told you that you're their Saviour?"

The boys eyes grew wide and he shook his head. "Does that mean I'm famous?"

"Yep. Very. Most famous of them all, I suppose."

That made the boy angry, surprisingly. "Well if I'm _so_ famous then how come I live _here_ with those _people_? Even if my mother and father died in a car crash because they were good-for-nothing drunks, surely I have SOMEONE in that world?"

"They… told you that your parents were drunks?"

"They weren't?"

"Of course not! They were formidable fighters and while they were on the other side of the war, one has to appreciate strength in one's enemies, as well. As for why no one took you in… there is one wizard who wanted you to grow up here and not in the magical world. Why? Maybe to keep you humble, maybe because he was afraid of you since you were so powerful as a toddler? I don't know. Lots of families would have loved to have taken you in, I reckon."

"What's that man's name?"

"Albus Dumbledore, so-called Leader of the Light."

"Not very Light of him to make me get starved and beaten and worked like a slave," the boy mumbled. "Does he know? Does anyone check on me?"

"There's a Squib woman breeding kneazles, magical cats, across the road from you. Saw her this morning. Maybe she does the job for him."

"Ms. Figg? But… she must know how they treat me…"

The boy was silent, his eyes shining with as yet unshed tears. Probably had to learn the hard way that tears would hinder rather than help with those relatives of his.

"I have lots and lots and lots to teach you before you start at Hogwarts, Harry. Will you come with me?"

"My aunt tells Dudley not to go with strangers all the time, but she never said it to me. I guess they'd be happy to be rid of me."

"We'd live in the muggle world, the mundane world, though and only occasionally stray into the wizarding world because it's safer that way," Barty explained. "I'd never beat you, cross my withered old heart, and you'll have proper clothes and meals and we'll get your teeth checked out and your eyes, too. You squint a lot. Do you get headaches often?"

The boy nodded slowly. "It's hard to read the blackboard. I sit in the last row. I think I might need glasses but Aunt Petunia, well… I guess you know by now."

"Is there anything you need from your room before we leave?"

"I don't have a room, I live in the cupboard under the stairs."

"You know, Harry… I think one day I'm going to kill Albus Dumbledore for all he's taken from us."

"Just one more thing: you said you and my parents were on different sides in the war, so why would you help me?"

"The war's long over," Barty explained. "You ended it, but I'll tell you about the details later. It took something from both of us, so I guess we're on the same side now? Kind of? Look, I don't exactly know yet. All I know is that we're the only one each of us has at the moment."

The boy didn't seem to want to argue with that logic.

"I suppose it would be wicked to have someone who actually cares about me," he said. "To be honest, I'd always dreamed of having someone on my side."

The boy, no, _Harry_, smiled now for the first time and it looked strange on his face. Barty supposed he hadn't had much use of those muscles in the last years of his life. Just like him.

"What do you think about some fish'n'chips?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "Never had it before."

"Oh we'll rectify that this instant! The fish gets very soggy, so you'll have no problem eating it. Afterwards… we'll take care of your teeth."

"I really can't believe this," Harry said. "You'll _really_ take me away from this place? And I won't wake up in the cupboard ever again?"

"Never again," Barty promised.

Throwing the letter and the ruddy plastic bag aside, Harry waited for his next move. Barty got up from the bench and held out his hand for the boy.

"This will feel just like what you felt when you found yourself on the school roof," Barty explained. "Afterwards, we'll be somewhere else and get that food I promised you."

"One more thing before we go…"

"Oh, is there something you want to take with you after all?"

"Uh, no, I just– what shall I call you?"

Huh, how about that. He hadn't even introduced himself and the boy had agreed to go with him. Dumbledore had really brought that one on himself.

"There are many things I need to tell you before I can tell you my real name lest you slip up and call me by it when we're in the wrong company. Is that alright with you?" Harry thought about it for a second, then nodded. "Right. So how about, until such time, you call me… Alfy. Alfred. Always fancied that name."

"Uncle Alfy… no, no, I don't like uncles. Cousin Alfy? Not too big on cousins either, but the adults were worse. Can I call you Cousin Alfy?"

"That'll be fine."

With that, they Apparated to a cozy little seaside town Barty knew to get some chow. After that, they'd get money and then hit up one of the healers who were primarily in the business of healing and not in the business of asking questions.

And afterwards, he'd start teaching the Boy-Who-Lived the Who is Who and What is What of wizarding society.


	2. 2

**Chapter 2**

The boy was fretting.

Understandable, of course. On the best days, goblins were still intimidating for adult wizards who were used to them. The boy, on the other hand, was merely six years old, had only just learned about his heritage and here they were, sitting in one of the ridiculously formal offices of Gringotts.

It had to be done.

What money Barty had managed to gather at his parents' home before rushing away was quickly running out and they needed lots of things. The boy needed a safe place to stay and Barty himself wouldn't say no to sleeping in a bed again. The chase for his master had been as tiring as it had been disappointing.

Also, the boy needed clothes. Just looking at the filthy over-sized rags he was wearing was enough to drag up memories of Azkaban. Being forced to wear what he had had on him at the time for a year straight had been a humbling experience.

"Here, Harry, get up for us, will you? Might as well transfigure those tents you're wearing."

The boy mumbled a "Sorry." and got up obediently.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Barty reassured him. "Damn muggles. We'll get you a whole new wardrobe, just you see. Your old man was _loaded_, you could probably live a _hundred_ lives on Potter money."

He transfigured the uniform into a smart-looking dark grey robe and the ugly, worn trainers into a simple pair of boots. It wasn't going to hold forever but with a bit of luck, if this went right, it wouldn't have to.

Finally, a goblin arrived and sat behind his desk. He didn't even look up at them when he addressed them while sorting through his papers.

"You have asked for a private meeting, unscheduled. State your business."

"Uhm. My name is Harry Potter and… I guess my parents might have left something for me?"

The goblin raised an eyebrow at that– a shockingly obvious sign of emotion from one of their race.

"And you have your key?"

"Cousin Alfy says a man named Albus Dumbledore has it but I don't want him to have it because he put me with the _Dursleys_ and I'm supposed to give you blood and then I get my money."

The words all rushed out of the boy and Barty stiffened slightly when the goblin stared at him.

"You are not an… Alfy," the goblin said. "We know who you are behind your _glamours_ but rest assured we goblins do not meddle in the politics of wizards. We only care for blood and gold, and today, we shall have blood."

He pushed a blank piece of parchment towards the boy.

"One drop."

Harry looked back at him, silently asking for help. Barty had him hold out his finger, nicked it with the weakest cutting spell he knew and immediately closed the wound again. One lone drop of blood fell on the parchment and from it, red words blossomed out across the page.

The goblin snatched it away.

"You are who you say you are, yet your given name is Hadrian Iacobus Potter, if you'd care to know."

"I do! Thank you ever so much! If it's not too much trouble, sir, does your magic paper also tell you my parents' names?"

Barty's chest gave another tug. He hadn't even considered that they wouldn't have told him his parents' _names_.

"James Charlus Potter and Lily Potter, née Evans."

"James and Lily," the boy repeated. "And they were good people and did not die because they drove drunk."

He looked at the goblin, then at Barty. "Thank you both, this is the best day of my life!"

The goblin raised an eyebrow again and Barty forced himself to flash the boy a smile despite the stone in his stomach. Poor thing! He'd be well taken care of from now on, and once the boy was a formidable wizard, they'd find his Lord together.

"Since you don't want the old wizard Albus Dumbledore to have access to what is yours, do you want to destroy all keys and all paperwork associated with his magical guardianship of you? As the heir and only living member of an Ancient and Noble House, you may do so."

"I… guess?"

The goblin snapped his thick fingers.

"It is done. From now on, account statements will be here for collection until such time as you move to a fixed location. Is there anything else you require?"

"Cousin Alfy says there is a type of money pouch that is connected to my fault?"

"Your vault," the goblin corrected, not unfriendly. "I suppose you want access to both wizarding and muggle currency?"

Here, he looked at Barty who nodded.

"Very well. The usual fees will apply and you will have access to the Hadrian Potter Scholarship Vault. The main Potter Vault will be open to you on your seventeenth birthday, upon your emancipation."

"Thank you," the boy said before remembering what Barty had taught him. "May your enemies… treble before your axe and gold flow into your faults like a river."

"Likewise– your foes shall fall before your sword and a rain of gold shall fill your pockets. We shall contact you once you are eleven years of age; until such time, your accounts shall remain in stasis– however much this pains us."

-o-

When they were back in Diagon Alley, Harry's glamours back in place to make him look blond and brown-eyed with no scar, Barty let out a deep, deep breath.

"You did it, kiddo, you can't believe how relieved I am! That goblin has probably never dealt with someone so young and yet so dignified."

"Dignified? I was terrified!"

"Doesn't matter," Barty waved him off. "We have money, Jacob! We can get a flat somewhere and I'll teach you all you need to know. Oh, it'll be brilliant, just you wait."

"Jacob?"

"A more modern version of Iacobus, thought you might appreciate it."

"Oh, I do!"

-o-

The next morning, they left their room in the Leaky Cauldron together. It had been the first time Harry had slept in a bed since he could remember and that was after they'd gotten his teeth and eyes fixed for a steep price in Knockturn Alley.

To say the boy had been a wreck was putting it lightly. There had been lots of reassurances that yes, Alfy was here to stay and, no, no one would take him away and yes, he did, indeed, deserve everything that had happened that day and so much more.

Barty felt strangely calm and collected in his new role. If he couldn't have a proper father for himself, than he sure as hell could _be_ one. Just as his lord had been for him. And together, they would find him, put him back together and rule wizarding society as his left and right hand!

Just a little more time. What were four years compared to an eternity?

-o-

A little while later, the two were the proud tenants of a small two bedroom flat with a spacious kitchen and a small but clean bathroom on the outskirts of London that cost them a hundred quid a week. Not what Barty had and Harry should have grown up with but _loads_ better than what they were both used to.

Officially, or rather, unofficially, they were now Alfred and Jacob Miller, a young father and his son who'd recently lost their wife and mother, respectively, when she died after being hit by a drunk driver. Barty had told Harry that the more truth in a lie, the easier it was to keep it straight and make it believable.

The boy had nodded sagely and vowed to remember that.

They went and got groceries and clothes for the both of them next. Harry couldn't believe his eyes when he saw himself in the department store mirror.

"I look like a_ real boy_," he whispered in awe at his reflection. "I doubt even Mrs. Morgan from Nr. 8 would call me a deckle lint now."

"I suppose you mean delinquent," Barty corrected him and loaded up about a dozen shirts of the size that fit the boy in their cart.

The boy was only wearing simple jeans and a graphic T-shirt that proclaimed his love of pineapples to the world, rounded up with shoes that actually fit his feet, yet he strutted around like a king. Wizards were resilient. They would have him catch up in no time.

After that, back at their new flat, Barty excused himself and sat the boy in front of the tee-vee which he seemed to appreciate tremendously.

Armed with the coin pouch, he went into Knockturn Alley again and procured a protective talisman inscribed with powerful runes that, to be honest, was so expensive compared to Barty's sensibilities that it wasn't even funny anymore.

He told Harry to wear it always when he got back.

"And it really makes the bad wizard unable to find me? Neither by owl nor by tracing nor by screaming or anything else?"

"Scrying, and the Trace but you got the jist of it alright," Barty commented, not without amusement. "I do have to warn you, though– I've been a prisoner in more ways than one for so long that what meager cooking skills I had, be they magical or muggle, have rusted something fierce."

The boy jumped up from the couch, colourful moving pictures of the tee-vee forgotten.

"I can cook! I've been doing it for years! That way, I can pay you back for helping me out."

"While, on principle, I find it horrible that a six-year-old child had to learn how to properly cook years ago… in this case I am actually rather thankful for it."

Watching the boy bustle off into the kitchen and arm himself with an apron he had insisted on buying, Barty allowed himself to relax for the first time since he'd been on the run. Maybe for the first time since he'd left school, actually.

They might actually be able to make this work.

That evening, they had spaghetti bolognese which really looked a lot more professional than anything cooked by a six-year-old had any right to be.

"Do we… say Grace?" The boy looked worried. "The Lord was never really there for me when I needed him, so I'd rather not if it's alright."

"I only have one Lord, anyway," Barty shrugged. "And I want him back."

"I could help you," Harry offered, fighting the long strands of pasta.

Sighing, Barty cut them for him.

"We'll see about that. First, you need to learn a lot of things and we'll start tomorrow. You'll turn seven years old in a couple months, so we really only have a little more than four years and like I said, I have _lots_ to teach you."

The boy smiled wistfully.

"Will we be like a proper family?"

"I've always wanted one, to be honest," Barty admitted. "Never thought I might get the opportunity after, well, everything that's happened. So yeah, sure. Why not. We'll be a family alright."

"And this will be our home!" The boy held his hands out to indicate their small flat and he'd be damned if there wasn't some spark returning into those big eyes.

"Yeah," he agreed, "home."

-o-

Hundreds of miles north of them, roughly half a dozen whizzing and whirring apparatuses spontaneously combusted into plumes of smoke.

When the old man who lived there would return from dinner, he would first pale frighteningly fast and then redden in anger so crimson, it would be a travesty of the house he'd once been Sorted into.

Alas, whomever he would ask– be it the boy's relatives, Mrs. Figg, the teachers at the boy's school and even the goblins or ministry officials, no one at all would be able to tell him where the boy had gone.

All he would find out was that his magical guardianship had been revoked and that his key to the boy's vault had been destroyed.

_Someone_ had taken him.

But no matter how much he scried and blackmailed, bribed and threatened, bartered and begged, the boy would remain hidden from him. And many other things he had wanted to take care of fell by the wayside during his search for the Child of Prophecy.

-o-

Barty and his protégé didn't know about any of that, even though he suspected that the old man wouldn't give up so easily. Still, the talisman proved to be worth every galleon he'd spent on it.

"Will you maybe tuck me in? I've never been tucked in before. And you have a nice voice so maybe you can tell me a story?"

He looked up at the boy in surprise.

"Oh, no, sorry. You don't have to, of course, I'll see you in the morning!"

Barty snickered quietly to himself. Good to know from the tug he felt every time the boy did something _particularly_ heart-breaking that he did indeed still have feelings.

He went after him, of course, and tucked him into bed. Pulling a stuffed snake plushie he'd gotten in the department store on a whim from behind his back, Barty was delighted to see the boy's eyes light up. Never too early to start a little snake propaganda for his master's sake.

Probably never even had a toy before, the poor thing. The boy was stroking the snake plush and hissing comforting little phrases into its stylised ear holes and _HOLD THE __**FUCK**__ UP_.

"Jacob?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you tell the snake?"

"I told her she'll be my best friend in the whole world after you. Was I mumbling too much? Aunt Petunia always said I mumbled too much."

Shaking his head, Barty looked out the window and had to try with all his might to keep it together. Finally, after all these years, he had at least a small part of his master back. He _knew_ his instinct of taking the boy instead of killing him was the right choice.

"You wanted me to tell you a story, right? I'll tell you a story about a boy who was just like you. He didn't have parents and grew up with horrid people until one day, he found out he was a wizard."

"What was his _name?"_

"His name was… Tom and he was a very special little boy. He could talk to snakes, for one…"

-o-

It hadn't taken long for Harry to fall asleep, listening to the tales Barty spun of his master's youthful exploits the man himself had shared with him.

The boy was a parselmouth, of all things. How did it work? Was he descended from Slytherin as well? Or had his master somehow transferred the ability over to-

Barty's thoughts broke off in horrified silence and for about ten seconds his mind was blissfully blank. Then, all his theories returned in a great flash of internal light and one stood out amongst the rest.

No. It couldn't be. So few knew about this, so few were trusted. To have just stumbled upon this– Dumbledore _must_ have noticed it. They would have had to do scans on a boy presumably hit with a killing curse, wouldn't they?

_Something _must have come up!

The boy. A horcrux.

He was sure of it!

His little charge was a horcrux. His master had done all the preparations that fateful Samhain and when the ritual succeeded even though it had failed, the soul shard must have gotten stuck in the boy, somehow.

Dumbledore knew, and that was why the boy was in the muggle world– any Dark Wizard worth his salt would have sussed out the truth if in close enough proximity to the boy for long enough. The old man was playing a dangerous game since every magical child went to Hogwarts, so maybe he had contingency plans in place.

Oh, they would have to prepare the boy even better than he'd imagined. A piece of his master, here with him, right this moment.

Aaand there the feelings were, washing over him like waves breaking on a rough shore. They crested high and ebbed away, only to return with renewed power and consume him again. He didn't know how long he was sitting on their thrift store couch but sometime close to dawn, his tears finally ebbed away and he was left a cleansed man.

He knew now what he had to do. As soon as the boy was off to Hogwarts, he was going to start looking for the rest of the horcruxes. Some locations he knew, his lord having placed them in his mind for safekeeping behind defenses Azkaban had long since melted away. Others, he would have to find by himself.

At least he knew how many there were, so Harry had to be the sixth. Unless, of course, his lord had made one more in secret but to be perfectly honest– the man was too much of a gloat for that. He liked having someone know. Barty would have to properly build up his mind's defences again if he didn't want to disappoint him upon his return.

Yes. He would teach the boy, the first piece of his master he'd been able to reclaim, everything he needed to become a formidable right hand upon his master's return. Then, he would locate all the horcruxes and he would reunite them into his master so that this time, he would heed caution over… showmanship.

When the sun broke the horizon apart and emerged from beyond, a man who had finally risen from the ruins of his former life drifted off into a restful sleep for the first time in years.

-o-

**For this story, I'm going with the "Barty has been a close confidant of Voldemort from the moment he took the Mark" approach because his abilities were _unreal_. If you look at everything he knows and can do in canon after being a hollow prisoner for _13 years_ with no access to a wand, a friend or _anything_, you have to wonder what he might have become with a little more time– time he has, in this story. Once he comes back, dear Tom won't know what hit him with these two powerhouses. **


	3. 3

**Barty and Harry decide to adopt a dog but the application process of the shelter is a lot more complicated than it has any right to be. **

-o-

**Chapter 3**

For the most part, Barty and his charge fell into an easy enough rhythm in their first year together. Until lunch, they would practice reading, penmanship and rudimentary Latin. Afterwards, Etiquette and History.

Once they'd gotten over the whole 'But I'm not allowed to do better than Dudley!' thing, the boy proved to be a quick study. Starved for affection as he was, he didn't dream of antagonising Barty and aimed to please as well as he could.

They lived a rather solitary life since neither of them was very fond of other people. Barty held no love for muggles on the best of days and Harry had had too many bad encounters in his short life to want to play with other children. And on the odd occasion that they went out into the wizarding world, they were always only one clasped shoulder away from Apparating to safety.

In the meantime, Barty had done tests on the boy's scar to confirm his suspicions and was proven correct. Harry had been happy to learn that a part of Barty's master lived on in him and started being proud of his scar instead of trying to hide it.

Thus, the boy _finally_ allowed him to give him a haircut. With his now shorter hair neatly slicked back he looked less like the scruffy boy Barty had rescued from abuse and more like a young pureblood heir. Barty was satisfied right until Harry demanded tit for tat and had _him_ get a new haircut as well. Well, it wouldn't do to let himself go, he supposed. Imagine his Lord somehow managing to come back on his own with Barty looking like a scarecrow! Unacceptable.

-o-

When Harry was nearly nine years old, there was a bit of a hiccup in their relationship. Their lessons now consisted of Wizarding Customs and House Politics before lunch and more recent History after.

The day in question had started with Harry asking about how his parents died and how he became the Saviour of this world he found himself entangled in. Barty sighed. He'd expected the question a lot sooner and yet he'd hoped it would never come.

This was it. This conversation would decide whether the boy would _ever _be able to see Lord Voldemort as anything other than an enemy.

So they got comfortable on the old couch they'd both gotten fond of with Harry clutching the worn snake plush to his chest and Barty began with his tale. He'd never _really_ treated the boy like 'just a child' if he was being honest with himself, so the thought of censoring the story in a more child-friendly way never crossed his mind.

He started with a foolish young man trying to belong who overheard part of a prophecy and relayed it to his master in a bid to gain his favour. How his master had scoffed at the idea of a prophecy, especially one proclaiming a mere child might be the one to 'vanquish' him at first and for almost a year after.

Here, even Barty wasn't sure why his master had eventually changed his mind. Whether it had been because the betrayal of the Pettigrew boy granted him easy access to the young family or because of something completely unrelated– in the end, the why mattered little, because attack them he did.

In a flash of green, two young lives were lost that day because they wanted to protect their child and because one of their dearest friends had betrayed them.

He briefly touched on Sirius Black being imprisoned in Azkaban for the betrayal and on unrelated murder charges, how his master's victory that had seemed so near had been thwarted by a mere toddler and how the wizarding world had lauded him as their hero.

When he was done, the boy was very quiet. Then, he asked questions.

"Why were my parents hiding? Did they know about the prophecy, too?"

"I'm not sure about the prophecy, but they _did_ know that my master was after them. They and another couple with a young son who also matched the description went into hiding at the same time. Oh, right. I forgot to mention– guess who the person the prophecy was spoken to was."

"How should I know? Wait. No… Not _him_, surely?"

Barty nodded sadly. "The one and only: Albus Dumbledore."

"So even before I was born he was meddling in my life? How do we know there even _was _a prophecy? You said that Snape guy works for Dumbledore now, so maybe it was all a trap and there was no prophecy?"

"My master was sure that Snape's loyalties lay with him but the man was a skilled Occlumens even back then so who knows, really. I _do_ know that he had the hots for your mum, so maybe once he found out who the prophecy referred to he freaked out? In any case, I think he _did _hear a prophecy, be it a fake one or a real one."

The boy pondered over that for a moment or two. "That seems as likely as any other explanation we might come up with. Maybe we'll never know. All I know is that this Snape character sold out my parents and then sold out your master so we know he can never be trusted. He goes wherever the wind blows."

Barty wondered, not for the first time, how much of an impact a couple years of care had had on the boy's speech pattern. He suspected that it was due, in part, to the Horcrux residing behind his forehead but he wasn't about to complain. If anything, it made his job of preparing the boy even easier.

"I agree," Barty responded, finally. "You'll have to be wary of him, too, in Hogwarts."

"I will. Now, about that godfather of mine…"

-o-

In the end, they agreed that the probability of Sirius Black joining them, even for Harry's sake, was a slight chance at best. Still, the boy demanded, _demanded_, that they set things in motion to free him.

Apparently, his godfather being denied a trial was the one thing in all this mess that Harry couldn't stand for. Barty rather thought the boy was compartmentalising his parents' deaths just a tad but he was too glad that this particular line of conversation had ended for the time being.

After a good long think about his new task, Barty went to Knockturn Alley to acquire a basic scrying set. He showed the boy how to set up the ritual bowl, how to fill it with purified water, the runes, the incantation– all there was to know about it. Pettigrew must have been sure of his getting away with everything because the location they got for him was in Ottery St. Catchpole, a little village that housed the odd magical family or two. Probably posing as a smart common rat somewhere.

With that info providing all the proof he felt he needed, Barty dictated a letter to a self-writing quill, addressed it to one of the most prestigious law-wizards in the country, tied a shrunken bag of no less than 1000 galleons to it and had it anonymously sent off from Gringotts. There was a Gringotts-based return address under a fake name relayed in the letter on the off chance that their chosen solicitor should need further information or funding.

They didn't hear anything more about it for two whole months. But when the story broke, it broke hard.

**SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT #**

**PETER PETTIGREW UNREGISTERED ANIMAGUS — FOUND HIDING AS A PET**

Basically the whole edition of the Daily Prophet talked about little else. Harry was delighted, as was Barty, in a way. Black had been one of the only ones still sane - and caring! - enough to give him some comfort back in that dark and dreary place. The man hadn't deserved staying there.

There was even a little interview with Black. Apparently, the long-overdue trial had already taken place a couple days ago and this press release must have been carefully constructed. Barty had Harry analyse it as practice.

"It throws the old administration under the bus," Harry concluded after a while. "Ex-minister Bagnold and some bloke called Bartemius Crouch Snr who are both dead and can't defend themselves. It says here that Crouch used to be the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time but that he lost all standing because his son was outed as a death eater and died in Azkaban. Apparently, in a bid to keep his position, he prosecuted his son himself and his wife died of grief a year later. What a bastard."

"Ha," Barty replied, voice thick, "sure sounds like it yeah?"

"You're doing that tongue thing again," Harry told him, expression guarded. "Where you flick it out and lick your lips all the time like you're a snake. I noticed you only do that when you're nervous."

"You did, didn't you?," Barty sighed, not meeting the boy's gaze. "Should have known I was going to raise a bloody nuisance the minute you spotted me despite the disillusionment charm, yeah?"

He was off the couch in a flurry of motion, pacing in their small sitting room, up and down, up and down and wringing his hands while he was at it.

"So what if they slander that guy's name? You said it yourself– he's a bastard, a good for nothing _prick_ of a lousy excuse for a man and nothing more!" His voice was growing louder now and he suddenly found himself gripping the edge of a window sill to steady his shaking legs. "He only got what he deserved is what I'm saying. Finally shown the world his true face'n all, he did!"

Harry was up and by his side in no time, leading his shaking form back to the couch. Then, he found his head tilted upward to stare into those green eyes that had become so achingly familiar over the last couple years.

"His son didn't die in Azkaban, did he?"

Bugger all this for a lark but the only answer Barty could give was a mute shaking of his head.

"I see. What about his mother?"

"The son's mother loved him very much and switched places with him because she was a frail woman and was close to dying anyway. His father used the Imperious curse on him to keep him away from everyone for _years_ until the son could break free from it to look for his master."

"But he didn't find him?"

"No… Instead, he sought out his master's greatest enemy and even then, he only managed to find his own best friend."

He didn't know how exactly it happened, but it was the first time they hugged. The boy was finally growing and had filled out a lot, but he was still a child and so _warm_ and _small_ in his arms. This must have been the most physical contact either of them had had in years and _years_ and that thought had Barty cling to his little charge ever so much tighter.

They stayed like that for a while, drinking in the comfort only a loved one could provide– be they blood or not.

When they parted, Harry sniffed and made them tea and Barty got their tin of biscuits because they were both English and that's how the English dealt with feelings. Then, they focused on the Prophet again.

"Right. So. The Fudge administration is using this to their advantage by spinning this as them caring about rectifying past mistakes," Barty continued where Harry had left off what felt like a lifetime ago. "And they're taking down Dumbledore, too. He was the one to cast the Fidelius, for heaven's sake so he should have made sure that Black at _least_ got a trial. That's not how you treat your friends."

"Were they ever friends, though?" Harry's voice had an off quality to it. "Maybe Dumbledore set this all up. Maybe he _wanted_ your master to kill my parents. Maybe they were starting to see through him? We don't know these things yet, but once I'm at Hogwarts, I will try to find out as much as I can."

The boy was almost glowing with a desire for righteous vengeance and Barty felt pride swell up in him.

"You should read this part of Black's interview," he told the boy, indicating a paragraph. "It's about us."

-o-

'**Interviewer**: Mr. Black, we at the Prophet have heard that your getting a trial was thanks to an anonymous benefactor who wanted to see justice done. Have you been able to find out who's behind your fortuitous change of fate?

**Mr. Black**: No, even the solicitor who was contracted by him, or well, maybe _her_, has no idea who's behind it. One day, an owl with all the info needed to clear my name together with a hefty payment just came out of nowhere. I… still can't really believe it, it's all a bit like a dream.

**Interviewer**: One you're not soon to wake from, Mr. Black, rest assured. Now, there's a good chance your mysterious helper will read this interview– is there anything you'd like to tell them?

**Mr. Black**: Of course! Look, I don't know who you are, but… you have saved my life when no one else would and I will forever be grateful to you. I understand if you'd like to stay anonymous for political reasons but I swear, if there's ever anything I, Sirius Orion Black or the House of Black, can do for you, just say the word and I will make it happen. So have I sworn, so mote it be.

_Here, Mr. Black glows golden with the unmistakable sheen of an Unbreakable Vow. _

**Interviewer:** Well, that was unexpected. Uhm. Where were we. Is there anything in particular you're looking forward to doing, now that you're your own master again?

**Mr. Black**: Since it's come out during the trial that my godson has apparently gone _missing_, I will go and look for him. Do _not_ ask me my opinion of Albus Dumbledore next, I warn you.

**Interviewer**: Erm, yes. No. Of course. Let's talk about your rehabilitation! Where will you…'

-o-

"He seems nice," Harry said. "Do you think we should meet him?"

Barty thought about it. "He has very publicly turned against the Dark in the last war despite his family being Dark for generations… but that was more because of his direct family, I suppose. You see, I was… friendly with his younger brother who vanished towards the end of the war so I know some of what happened in their childhood. Let's just say that you and he have some things in common."

"So we can meet him?" The boy's gaze was pleading. "My parents wanted him to be my godfather, so he's basically family, isn't he? You taught me that magically sworn godparents can never hurt their godchildren, and he even swore an Unbreakable Vow to do whatever his saviour needs."

"Let me think about this," Barty requested. "I may have an idea how to go about this."

He didn't, but he hoped that he would have once he had kicked the old brain matter into gear. There was no way any request his young Lord had was going to remain unfulfilled and _where_ by Merlin's wrinkly old balls had that phrasing come from?

Seems there were _lots_ of things to think about. While Harry went into his room with the Daily Prophet to let him think, Barty looked after him as he left. There were still traces of the haunted child he'd picked up a couple years ago, of course, but he was holding himself differently now.

The scrawny frame had given way to broader shoulders and he was growing like a weed. The Potters had always been tall and Lily hadn't been small, either. Once grown, the boy was going to make a magnificent wizard, the potential was all there, Barty just had to unleash it piece by piece.

What was Black going to do to his plans? Should have probably thought of this before, he did. But when the boy had demanded that something had to be done Barty did the only thing he knew how to: obey.

He didn't know if the boy noticed it, but there was a shift happening between them. Young as he was, his young Lord was starting to call the shots and Barty was ever so glad to be able to _follow_ again. He was no leader, never had been, but following a _boy_?

No. Not just a boy. _The _boy. The Chosen One. The Saviour. The Boy-Who-Lived.

The Boy-Who-Was-A-Horcrux.

With Harry's magic slowly maturing and coming into its own, Barty was starting to be able to sense the boy's magical signature. It was agony because under the top layer that was unmistakably Hadrian Iacobus Potter, there was a pulsating undercurrent of Thomas Marvolo Riddle and he felt compelled to listen to its every whim and fancy just as he had done with his master all those years ago.

There was no use whining about it. If the young Lord wanted to hold an audience with Sirius Black, an audience with Sirius Black was what he was going to get. Black had sworn an Unbreakable Vow, after all, and the influence of what remained of the Black family potentially on their side was no small boon.

Sighing, he pulled some parchment over to him and started writing a letter to set up a clandestine meeting.

-o-

**Adopt, don't shop ;)**

**Btw, I'll try to update about two times a week. Wednesday and either Saturday or Sunday. If there's no update on Wednesday, there will definitely be one on the weekend :**


	4. 4

**Chapter 4**

Barty was currently waiting in a hotel room, wearing a different face like he so often did nowadays. Just a different kind of cage, he supposed but what's an ought-to-be-dead man to do?

The boy was downstairs in the lobby under polyjuice, disillusioned and glamoured and with lots of spare doses of polyjuice potion in his pockets, just in case.

The face Barty was wearing was young and pretty and very, very female. At 7pm sharp, there was a knock on the door. Barty took a deep breath, readjusted his wand holster for the umpteenth time and opened the door.

It was Black alright and, at least on first glance, he was alone. He looked terrible, though, all hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. Well, he'd only been out a week, maybe two, right? A wonder he'd managed to survive so many years in the first place.

"Missed my meticulous ministrations?," Barty winked with a coquettish grin.

"Madam, my mind might melt meeting my… modest maiden." Black looked physically pained saying this, but the secret phrases had been Harry's idea and he'd been ever so proud of them.

"Alright, in with you," Barty replied, shooing Black into the room. "_Homenum Revelio_."

The charm came up clear, so Barty closed the door behind him. Turning back to Black, he saw that the man was eyeing him warily.

"I wasn't… actually expecting a maiden," the man admitted, his eyes furtively glancing towards the bed. "I mean, if… that's what you want for freeing me, I-"

"Oh please," Barty scoffed. "This isn't my real face but I can't risk you knowing who I am, even if you are on our side. There are too many people who'd do terribly stupid things. No. You may address me as… Alfy, while we talk."

"Alright, _Alfy_," Black agreed, cautious. "Are you the one who freed me or are you just a middle man– well, woman?"

"I'm both, in a way," Barty explained. "I was the one who did the actual freeing but it was on, well, orders, I suppose? Demands? The claiming of friendly favours?"

Black was looking more and more agitated, now. "Can I meet whoever gave the orders? Or at least know their name?"

"If you agree to hand over your wand, I will summon your saviour here," Barty offered, holding his hand out.

Black looked close to arguing and by Merlin, Barty knew why. He himself had been _fiercely_ protective of his new wand, stolen as it might be, ever since Azkaban and being held prisoner by his own father.

"Look, I know it sounds bad, but– you'd have died in Azkaban sooner or later. Why go through all the trouble to free you only to kill you now when we could have let the dementors do our job for us?"

Black seemed to agree with that logic after a quick think and he handed his wand to Barty. Shoving it in his purse, Barty went to the door of the hotel room, conjured a little bird and sent it on its way to the lobby.

Not long after, he could hear small steps nearing their door and knew that next time, he'd remember to silence the boy's movements when he wanted to hide him.

"Get in, he's alone and unarmed," Barty invited him in, looked down both sides of the hallway and closed the door after another human-revealing spell for good measure. "Has the polyjuice worn off?"

There was no response.

"Look, Jacob, I can't see if you're nodding your head or shaking it. You're invisible."

"Oh right, sorry! I had this tingling feeling like when I took it on the way here, so I think it's worn off."

"Right-o. Look Black, please don't freak out."

Barty cancelled the disillusionment charm and Harry appeared with his glamoured blonde hair and blue eyes. Black's eyes narrowed in confusion but then, when Barty cancelled that spell as well, the man staggered backwards as if struck by lightning and sunk down against the wall, his eyes wide.

"Oh Merlin, it's you, isn't it…? Harry, it's you, oh what have I _done_."

With that, he buried his gaunt face in his hands and let out huge, heaving sobs. He looked terribly small like this, skin and bone as he was and with the darkness and despair of Azkaban still clinging to his every fibre.

The boy, still standing by Barty's side, didn't really know what to do and looked to him for guidance. Barty gave him an uneasy shrug. Comforting grown men that had escaped from hell's little sister was not one of the many skills listed on his resumé.

Well, he himself had escaped that place but he hadn't been himself long enough straight after to find out what he might have wanted after the ordeal. Maybe a hug?

Black fortunately got a grip on himself before they had to resort to pulling lots and shuffled up to them only to sink to his knees in front of Harry.

He raised his hands up towards the boy's face but didn't dare touch him– he just let them hover in the air between them before dropping them in his lap.

"You look so much like them, Harry," he told the boy, gaze slightly feverish. "James, Lily… yet, there is your grandmother, too. She was a Black, did you know that? Dorea Black, my great-aunt. Those cheekbones of yours are all Black, never any hint of cheekbone on either James or Lily."

"You knew them well, didn't you?" The boy's eyes were misty now and Barty suddenly felt like he was intruding on something private.

"Gods, Harry, I should have been there for you. I should never have gone after Pettigrew in the first place but I was _so_ blinded by hate and a need for revenge." Black was shaking now, memories almost visible behind his pale grey eyes. "I should never have given you to Hagrid, you were mine to protect and I _failed _you. And now _you_ saved _me_!"

With that, he was sobbing again but this time his huddled form folded in on itself until there was a huge black dog in his place, its uncanny pale eyes downcast. It was whining something fierce and leaned forward to press its nose into the boy's hand.

And because there'd never been a boy who could withstand the temptation of cuddling a big furry dog, Harry fell to his knees as well and hugged the big mutt around its broad neck. His face was hidden in the coarse fur and Barty could hear some muffled sobs.

"Splendid. You two get to know each other, I'll make some tea."

There was a rudimentary kitchenette and instead of using the ecelectrical kettle and setting fire to something, Barty did the sensible thing and heated the water with his wand.

Conjuring three chairs and a table, he brought three mismatched cups and the tea pot over and waited for the other two to get their reunion out of their system.

When they joined him after a few minutes, Black was back to human and Harry wore an actual smile on his face.

"So you're an animagus, too," Barty commented. "Was Jac- Harry's father one?"

"Yeah," Black replied, voice a little hoarse from emotion. "He was a great big stag. Majestic beast. Soo… do you guys actually live here?"

"Don't be foolish, this is no place for a child," Barty chided, offended. "We have a real flat. The boy's parents didn't leave him penniless, even if those relatives of his tried to make him think he was a pauper."

"We should be happy for that, Alfy. Imagine if they knew I had money– they'd have taken it _all_ and we'd be on the streets."

Sirius was looking between the two of them.

"You're not changing your voice anymore, _Alfy_, so I guess you're _really_ a bloke and not just double-bluffing? Look, I'm… really appreciative of everything you've done for my godson and I, but what exactly is your angle here? Why are you taking care of him?"

"Don't be suspicious, Sirius," Harry calmed him. "He's been there for me because no one else was. Just like with you. So many people should have cared for us, so many unasked questions and yet, only one person who ever asked them. You should be thankful– I sure am."

Sirius was taken aback. "I, well, I guess you're right. You are very insightful for your age, Harry, and, oh bugger. You're nine years old, now, aren't you? I missed so many birthdays, so many… milestones. Tell me, how long have you been with those awful Dursleys? Dumbledore wasn't forthcoming at all, he was miffed enough that it came out where he'd put you and that you'd been taken somewhere else without his knowledge."

"Alfy found me when I was 6," Harry told him. "It was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"They tried to beat the magic out of him, did you know?" The tone of Barty's voice made Black turn pale. "Who knows if he'd have even made it to Hogwarts."

"I just wonder why no one bothered to come looking," Sirius sighed, shaking his head. "It's so… sad. Just like me in Azkaban. At first, I was wrecked with grief and guilt but when I became lucid again, I kept waiting and waiting for someone to get me out of there, you know? Dumbledore, Crouch, Moody, _Remus_, heck, anyone! I believe it took me a whole year and young Barty Jr. dying and being thrown into the North Sea without anyone batting an eye to understand that no one was coming."

Harry's hand was on Barty's arm in an instant, squeezing gently.

"He was one of the death eaters, right?" Harry's voice was light and curious. "Did _you_, at least, mourn him?"

Black, eyes hooded with grief, slowly nodded his head. He croaked something, drank a sip of tea and then tried again.

"He was always screaming for his mother. I mean, he was just a kid, right?" Barty tried not to listen but needed to hear it nonetheless. "He had the mark, of course, but he was apprehended when Karkaroff ratted him out, he told me. On that man's word alone, he got sentenced for the torture of Frank and Alice– Longbottom, that is, together with the Lestranges. I don't know if he did take part but… he didn't strike me as the torturing for sport kinda guy, you know? Anyway, when he… wasn't sobbing and lucid enough we used to trade what happy stories we could remember.

One of the only more or less sane ones in that hellhole, he was. Then, one day, Crouch Sr. comes in with his little slip of a wife and mind you, he used to be my boss during the War and he didn't even _look_ at me. They stayed for a while, mother and son cried and whispered and cried some more and then they were off again. After, the boy was catatonic, didn't say hardly a word. I suspect they gave him something to, you know, help the natural order of things along. We were cell neighbours. The walls were solid stone of course but there were only bars to the hallway and I held his hand through those bars til he was gone."

Sirius' face was pale but it seemed he had no tears left in him. Barty felt himself deflate. Dear old mother, saving her son with her last dying wish only to have him sent to the next prison. But he was free now, and it was thanks to her that it was set in motion.

Harry looked at him, then, and faintly jerked his head in Sirius' direction. Barty shook his head but Harry jerked his head again and glared at him. Great. Apparently the kid had decided to trust Black. Well, the man did have no one but his godson in the whole wide world, did he?

"Black, there's… something we– _I_ need to tell you."

Black looked up at him, gaze empty and lost in the past.

"Harry has decided to trust you, and you've taken an Unbreakable Vow to help us however you can. Well, we need you to swear another one: to keep our secrets until such time as we give you explicit leave to talk about them."

"It'll be a nice change to be the one with the secrets," Black commented dryly. "Instead of everyone else always having secrets, that is. I've nothing left to lose except Harry anyway, so… whatever. I, Sirius Orion Black, do hereby swear to keep Harry Potter's and so-called Alfy's secrets until such a time as I'm given explicit leave to do so. So I swear, so mote it be."

"Thank you, Sirius!" Harry was delighted. "I'm so glad you decided to join us. I'd have hated to have parted ways with you again after just having gotten you back!"

"You'd have stayed with him, huh? I'm not surprised. Being helped by someone when no one else would, well, it's… it's a special bond, I'll give you that," Sirius said, self-consciously. "So what do you have to tell me?"

"My polyjuice potion will soon be wearing off," Barty told him. "I hate to repeat myself but– please don't freak out."

Black's eyes became huge. "You're not my brother, are you?"

"Regulus? No, no I'm _really_ not. I, uh, knew him, though. He was a friend before his disappearance."

"A friend?" Black's eyes fixated on Barty's clothed left forearm, alert again all of a sudden. "You're a death eater!"

As if on cue, the potion wore off and Barty felt the tell-tale tingle of his borrowed features morphing back into his own.

Instead of panicking, Black first stared at him in confusion, then in recognition and finally in awe.

"She switched with you…"

"She was a very frail woman, always sick– the Greengrass blood, you see? Only affects the women, though, and then not even all of them, so I'm good." He was rambling, he knew he was.

"You lucky bastard," Black laughed suddenly, the grin on his face a little too wild. "Escaped Azkaban, you did! Congratulations to you and rot to the whole island!"

With that, Black swept him right out of his chair and into a big bear hug before Barty was quite sure what was happening.

"But wait, you said you only found Harry when he was six? Was he so well-hidden?"

"It's a long story," the boy piped up.

Black sat down again and Barty left it up to Harry to explain his father's actions towards him, how they'd met and how they'd been living.

"So you've… just been teaching him Etiquette and History and stuff? No trying to turn him to the Dark Arts?"

"You'll find he's preternaturally predisposed to them," Barty said, shrugging. "He's a parselmouth."

Black's eyes became wide, then and he looked at Harry. "Is that true?"

"It is! I have a piece of Alfy's master in me!"

Harry excitedly pointed to his scar and while Barty wouldn't have chosen _that _exact way and moment to tell Black, he had to hand it to the boy that it fit in beautifully, thematically speaking.

"_What!" _

"We'll bring him back because Alfy misses him terribly!"

"_What_!" Black shook his head, staring at Harry as if he had spouted three heads. "Harry, he _killed_ your parents. He triedto kill _you_! How can you call him your master!?"

"Oh, he's not my master," Harry replied, waving the silly notion aside. "I won, so _technically _speaking, I'm the master."

Black seemed to be grasping for words, or his breath, or maybe both.

"But he _killed _your parents!"

"It was _war_," Harry argued. "He would never have gone specifically after them or me if it hadn't been for the prophecy!"

That prompted another long discussion about the prophecy, Snape's role in it all which had Black snarling and other loose odds and ends but Barty was happily droning it all out and stewing in his own thoughts. The locket. The ring. The diadem. The boy. Two more he needed to actually look for but he'd always liked a challenge.

"Oi, Crouch!"

Before he'd realised what he was doing, Barty was out of his chair and in Black's face. "Don't use that name for me, _never_ use that name for me!"

"Alright, alright," Black soothed, holding his hands up in surrender. "But Barty is okay? I can call you Alfy if you'd prefer."

"Calm down," Harry said, guiding him back to his chair. "I like Barty very much. I like Alfy too, but Barty really suits you. We'd better stick with Alfy though, for the time being. It's alright if I'm seen with Sirius publically and he calls me by name but we can't have your name floating around."

"As you wish," Barty acquiesced with a sigh. "I suppose I'll call you Harry, from now on? What's the plan then? Black is not gonna move in with us, there's only two bedrooms."

"He could sleep on the couch," Harry suggested. "As a dog, it might even be comfortable."

"Excuse me, I'm not sleeping as a dog on your couch," Black grumbled. "I have a flat over Diagon Alley I can sell for funds, I don't want to live as central as that ever again. I'm still technically the Black Heir since Grandfather Arcturus never disinherited me but as long as the old man is alive I only have access to the typical Black stipend."

"You've been imprisoned for years, surely the payments didn't stop? There might be a nice tidy sum in there by now," Barty reminded him.

"You're right," Black replied slowly. "And I almost _forgot_. I have a huge settlement from the ministry coming so I'll be loaded!"

"Roommates!" Harry threw his hands up and grinned at both of them.

So far, so good. This had gone a _lot_ better than Barty had expected. Black hadn't tried to take the young Lord from him and Harry was enthusiastic but cautious, just like he'd advised him.

To Black's chagrin, they decided to Apparate to their flat for the night instead of staying at the hotel. Since he didn't want to leave his godson's side so soon he did actually end up sleeping on the couch. In dog form.

Barty cackled all the way to his room.


	5. 5

**Chapter 5**

Even though Black had kept his word and immediately sold his flat in Diagon Alley - making a tidy profit from when he first bought it - a new path soon opened up before them.

They were busy discussing where to move over breakfast a couple days after Black had joined them. While they were weighing up the anonymity of the muggle world with the convenience of a wizarding home, a regal-looking owl knocked its talons against their kitchen window and startled them all.

"Are you wearing your talisman, Harry?" Barty had his wand in his hand in a split second.

"I've never taken it off," Harry told him. "You know I wouldn't."

"It might be for me," Black reminded them. "Getting quite a few of these over the last weeks."

Not letting the owl out of his sight, Barty unlatched the window and the owl did indeed fly over to Black. Thank Merlin, non-existing crisis successfully averted.

"It's from my grandfather," Black realised after performing scanning spells on the envelope. "It's got the Black family seal on the back. As far as I know, he hasn't contacted anyone in the outside world for _years_ now."

Barty had lost interest as soon as it became clear that it wasn't for them and was fussing over Harry who was, in turn, busy fussing over the owl and feeding it bacon.

"He… invites me to join him in Black Manor," Black told them in disbelief after he was done. "Apparently, my being cleared of all charges has had him reconsider a few things and he wants to make it up to me. He says I could even bring you, Harry, if I were to find you."

"I won't go anywhere without Alfy," Harry said simply. "If he comes as my tutor, we'll consider it."

"Oh I'm sure that could be arranged, don't worry. But the possibilities! Nothing's as well-guarded as Black Manor," Black grinned, gaze calculating. "Not even the old townhouse I grew up in and my parents were _notoriously_ paranoid."

Barty wasn't sure yet what to think about this opportunity, so he pointedly looked at the old muggle clock above the kitchen door and cleared his throat.

"Don't you have a ministry-funded standing appointment at St. Mungo's?"

"Darn it, I very much do!" Black drained his coffee mug in one gulp, "We'll talk more later if you want, Harry. Bye!"

With a crack, Black was gone and Barty sighed. He knew it'd be a change of dynamics and yet– maybe it was a good thing? The boy needed other influences and even though Black's reputation wasn't the best in Dark circles, he was still a Black, the heir at that, and that could potentially open many doors.

"The tongue, Alfy."

"Ugh."

"What are you thinking about? Do you think we should accept the offer?"

Barty crossed his arms and started a thorough thinking process. Yet, just as quickly, he stopped and shook his head.

"You should tell me what _you_ think," he challenged, looking sideways at the boy. "Think not about what you want but what you need. To succeed. To gain influence."

Harry's lips were a thin line while he pondered.

"What I want is to stay here with you and keep studying, maybe have Sirius visiting every other day and he can sleep on the couch sometimes like he's been doing the last week." Then, he sighed. "But that's not what we _need_, you're right. If we want to do this right, we need to gain influence. To gain influence, we need to meet people– I need to meet people. Living at Black Manor would give me the opportunity to lie about where I've been staying, say I've been taken in by the Blacks all this time because I am one by birth and also because I'm Sirius' godson.

We could meet important people, even if they've proven to be traitors to your master. If they can help us, we can let _him_ do the judging once he's back."

"Tell me, Harry, when exactly did you decide to help me bring him back?" When the boy opened his mouth to speak, Barty hushed him with a raised finger. "Ah-ah-ah. Don't just say because you want to make me happy. Normal little boys don't want to resurrect their parents' murderer and team up with him. Do you _want_ to team up with him? Because the way you're talking, it sure sounds like you want to team up with him."

"I want to ask him questions," Harry admitted. "You told me about the Knights of Walpurgis– the death eaters are just a caricature of that. No offence. I need to know where it went wrong" (, so I don't make the same mistakes when I try to take over.), though the last part went unsaid.

They sat in silence for a moment before Harry spoke again.

"You really believe reuniting him with the horcruxes will make him… more sane?"

"It's just a theory," Barty admitted, "and a weak one at that. From what I remember him telling me, you can only reconnect with a part of your soul you sealed into a horcrux if you feel real regret for the murder you've committed to split it. It's a long shot at best, but maybe if I can devise a ritual that reunites them with him during the resurrection? Look, it's… I'm still a little hazy on the details but I'm working on it."

"Mhh," Harry answered noncommittally. "I might have an idea but you mustn't laugh."

"I would never!"

"Even if it's silly? It might be silly. It's just an idea and I have no idea if it could _possibly_ work."

Intrigued, Barty looked at the boy.

"Alright, I promise."

"Right." Harry took a deep breath. "There's a horcrux behind my forehead, or in my forehead, or, well, there is one. Inside of me."

Barty nodded. So far, so good.

"As far as we know, no one's ever made more than one before him, right? So maybe, since he made more than one, the horcruxes have a connection to each other that is as strong as the one to its main soul piece? Or at least _some_ connection to each other? If we were to collect them all, bring them together, we might be able to have them join the one inside me."

Harry was the one fidgeting now and Barty was too shocked about his words to say anything about it.

"Maybe it would be enough if _I_ were to feel true regret for the murders. Seeing as part of him is inside me? That way, if I can unify them into one _big_ piece, the only murder he'd have to really express regret for would be that of my mother or the attempted murder on me. Whatever made the horcrux. That might be in the realm of possibilities once we explain the situation to him."

It felt like Barty's mind had just stopped. There were no thoughts and his head felt pleasantly filled with cotton candy. Finally, when the reboot was done he looked at the boy. Really looked at him.

"You would do that?"

"If it was possible, yeah, I would. I don't think you liked the cackling madman. You liked the saner Lord Voldemort who didn't come out often. There's still the lonely little orphan Tom somewhere in there and I think… I think I might be just like him. Maybe I'd even _be_ him if I'd been born 60 years earlier? I want to know what he's capable of, and then I want him to help us."

"Help us with what?"

"Overhaul British Magical Society," the boy said simply. "From what you've told me, it's in dire need of changes. With Sirius, there's finally a feasible way to contact the big political players and get things started. I was thinking of contacting the Malfoys first. Sirius' cousin Narcissa is a Black so it wouldn't be out of left field."

"You beautiful, beautiful young man," Barty breathed, never having called Harry 'boy' to his face what with the connotations from his relatives. "You've actually thought this through, haven't you?"

"You send me to bed at 8," Harry shrugged. "We get up at 7 and I don't need that much sleep. I've told you, but I didn't want to argue when I could just as easily use that time for planning."

"I can hardly believe it," Barty whispered. "You've got a real plan, and you thought of it all by yourself."

Here, Harry's expression became shifty.

"Did I, though? Sometimes… sometimes it feels like I get an answer from nowhere when I'm stuck. And when I'm asleep there are these, well, visions, I guess? And when I wake up, I know what I have to do."

"You think it's him," Barty concluded, voice hoarse. "Are you afraid?"

Harry shook his head. "That's just the thing," he admitted, "I know that maybe I should be, seeing as how there's possibly someone else in my head. But then again, it's almost always been there, isn't it? Where do I end and where does the Horcrux begin? And maybe it's so much a part of myself that there is no end and no beginning. So no, I'm not afraid of myself. Never."

Barty processed that for a minute and even he noticed his tongue flicking out nervously. "If your plan works, and I'm saying that with a very big IF, what would that do to you? If you lose your Horcrux while feeding the other Horcruxes into the main soul, where will that leave you? We've got to find a way to keep them apart, somehow."

"Keep them apart? But I want them to join together!"

"I'm not saying it was a bad idea, Harry," Barty calmed him. "It's a very good one and might be the best shot we've got. We will try to join the other five soul pieces together inside you because you've proven to be a very resilient vessel _but_! we'll keep them apart from _your_ horcrux so that you can keep it."

"Okay, I can live with that," Harry agreed. "When will we get them?"

"I know where some of them are, but not all," Barty admitted. "The problem is that we know too little of how horcruxes work. When it says that the soul splits, does it mean that the first horcrux he made contains half his soul? Consequently, that would mean that he only had 1/64th of his soul left in the end and that's frankly ridiculous. Thoughts?"

"Maybe it's a certain percentage," Harry said slowly. "As in, maybe 10% of the main soul each time so he'd have 40% left?"

"Could be," Barty conceded. "Or, the manner of the murder committed plays a role and some led to a bigger split than others because of the impact it had on my master's soul. We probably won't find out so, just to be sure, we'll find as many of them as we can."

-o-

In the end, they wound up in Black Manor after all, its protections and status proving to be too tempting. They'd spent quite some time debating over Barty's new identity and eventually agreed he should stay Alfy for the time– Alfred Bo Hornby, to be exact: scion of a minor magical family who'd been born and raised in South Africa. Since all known members of the Hornby family living in England had perished in the First Wizarding War, it was as good a cover identity as any.

They'd briefly met Lord Arcturus Black upon their arrival who hadn't paid Barty any more mind than to thank him for watching after his grandson's godson. He had been more interested in Harry, but thankfully only in a polite, non-intrusive way.

Satisfied with how the boy's studies seemed to be progressing he'd welcomed him into the fold of the Black family and sent them to inspect their new quarters.

Black - Sirius, that is, and wasn't that going to get confusing soon? - must have alluded to the fact that Barty was no mere tutor, so he and Harry found themselves with rooms on the same floor and wing as Black. Sirius. Damn it.

"Alfy, my room is as big as our whole flat was," Harry told him after a brief inspection. "I'm not sure how to feel about that."

"How about grateful?" Barty was inspecting his own new writing desk while Harry was awkwardly standing in the doorway. "Look, Harry– this is how wizarding nobility lives. This is how you should have been living your whole life! It's only proper. Once you're of age you'll gain access to Potter Manor which is almost on par with Black Manor in terms of size."

"Huh," the boy said, strolling into the room. "I guess I haven't realised just how much money I was going to have– or properties."

"Or responsibilities," Barty reminded him. "Which means we'll resume our lessons tomorrow morning. We've been slacking off and it's already October! This time in two years you'll have been in Hogwarts for over a month."

"Sirius and I talked about this, you know?" Barty realised in an instant that this was one of these times where Harry was back to being a normal boy again, unsure and in need of guidance and he slowly led him over to two chairs facing each other. "Sirius asked why we're so adamant that I go to Hogwarts. He said I could just as easily go to Beauxbatons or Durmstrang or Ilvermorny. Why don't I do that, instead? Avoid Dumbledore and his manipulations outright."

Barty thought carefully about his reply.

"You want to change Great Britain, don't you? You can't change Great Britain coming from the outside. Grindelwald tried, he went to Durmstrang, as you know, and allied with the Germans. He tried to leave his mark here but he failed. No. If you want to affect change in this stagnant society, the change has to occur from within. You're the Boy-Who-Lived, however much you despise that moniker, and as such you hold a power over these people."

"I never wanted that kind of power over them," Harry admitted with downcast eyes. "They celebrate me for something I didn't even do and I hate it."

"How do you know that, though? For all we know, even as a toddler, you were able to beat the strongest wizard of our age," Barty reminded him. "We can ask him what's happened after he's back– that is, if he can even remember. But until then, we're operating under the assumption that you're the next big powerhouse and act accordingly."

"Isn't there like a test we can do? Magical core strength or something?"

"Oh sure, there are several," Barty drawled and immediately followed it with: "And they're rubbish, all of them. They don't account for how esoteric matters play into casting magic, experience, affinities to certain kinds of magic, none of that. All rubbish. We'll do it the old-fashioned way and teach you to duel and see how you do at school with casting magic."

"Alright," Harry agreed easily. "And, well, I also have things to do at Hogwarts that can only be done there."

"The Chamber of Secrets, yes of course. Dear old Salazar was about as covert aboung naming things as our favourite descendant of his. And the diadem. Mustn't forget the diadem."

"Right, yeah. I can do that."

"And there's one other thing at Hogwarts we need to get but I'll tell you about it later."

Harry looked at him uncertainly. "This is the first time you've mentioned another thing. Is it… important?"

"Easily as important as the diadem, yes, though it's not a horcrux. I'll tell you after you've gotten your heir rings, I promise."

Harry was, thankfully, okay with that. No use telling him about the Elder Wand yet and antagonise him further against Dumbledore. It was going to be a walk on a tightrope either way, with the way things were at the moment.

While Harry went to his own rooms to explore some more, Barty went deep into his mind and had a good old think. Now that they had the Blacks on their side, they could go about calling on potential allies. The Malfoys first, then the Notts. Old Tiberius having a son the same age as Harry was a weird concept for him but each their own? Nott had been with his master from the start and would prove valuable if he were to be swayed to their cause.

They'd take things from there probably. But for now…

Barty left his room and went down the corridor. He stopped outside Black's– Sirius' door and knocked. Momentarily, the door opened and the man's pale eyes looked at him calculatingly.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering, Sirius," a slight rise of the man's eyebrows due to the informality, "if Black Manor was in possession of a dueling room. The way I see it, we're both incredibly rusty and could use all the training we can get if we want to protect our dear Harry in the future. No use inviting all manner of people here if we can't even cast a proper shield."

Sirius pondered that for a moment but Barty could see the excitement bubbling under his wiry frame.

"You got yourself a deal," he agreed easily. "Every second day starting tomorrow, 7pm. I'll show you the duelling room after dinner. Were you ever good at duels, before, or do I have to take it easy on you?"

"I'll have you know that my Lord had us battle each other from time to time for sport and I could hold my own against your dear cousin." Barty allowed himself a triumphant grin when he saw Sirius' face fall a little. "If you're a good boy today and tomorrow, maybe _I'll _go easy on _you_."

-o-

Turned out they were both all talk. There were some things you didn't forget when it came to duelling– things like footwork, spell chains and appropriate shields but it was hard to do the right thing in the heat of the moment when you were out of practice by seven years.

On mutual agreement, they both tapped out after a measly half an hour, panting harshly and clutching various aches. Good thing they'd agreed on nothing explicitly dangerous until they'd gotten the hang of it.

"Look at us," Sirius snorted, "choking on our breaths, ha, like some old men! I'm only, what, twenty… twentywhat? What year is it? 1989, isn't it? Means I'm–"

There, Sirius stopped and his eyes grew big. He looked at Barty with an expression so full of concern and deep-seated misery that it stirred something suspiciously like pity in him.

"My birthday is November 3rd," he finally whispered. "Next month… I'm, I mean, I will turn _thirty years old_ next month."

"Well if there's one person in this world who understands having their youth taken from them, I guess it would be me," Barty replied slowly, sighing when Sirius' pleading eyes bid him to keep talking. "It's hard, I know, it's the hardest thing in the world to have something taken from you that you have no hope of ever getting back."

"How do you even start? I have nothing left in this world except for Harry…"

"Then you care exclusively for Harry until you find something else that is worth a place in your heart," Barty shrugged. "Be it a some_one_, a some_thing_, who knows? To be honest, I've taken everything one step at a time. Didn't even have a grand master plan in the beginning. Give it some time, you've only been out roughly a month."

"I think I'll do that," Sirius nodded, combing a hand through his long hair that was slowly starting to look softer and healthier. "Take it slowly, that is. Baby steps, yeah, I can do that. Thanks, Alfy. I, I really appreciate it. You're alright, you know? For a death eater."

Here, Sirius winked with a strange expression and left the room.

What a sad, hollow man, Barty thought to himself. He only knew the feeling too well– finally getting _out_ only to find that there was hardly anyone out there waiting for you. He'd make a good ally, Sirius, formidable even. For the long run, that is, not just short term. He was smitten with the boy who was the only thing keeping his spirit tethered to this world and that was going to become very important the further they began to stretch their influence.

Yes, that was a relationship worthy to be cultivated. Regulus had had so much potential, as well… no, better not to dwell on what could have been. There was only one Black brother now, and they were going to need him.

Not for the first time, he thanked Harry's ability to instinctively do the right thing. With a bit of luck, they'd be able to gather quite a little troop of bodyguards for the boy at Hogwarts, now.


	6. 6

It was late November when they had Harry's first official outing to Diagon Alley. With the boy's magical guardianship officially transferred to his godfather, they felt they needed to clear up some things at Gringotts, maybe even get the Potter accounts out of stasis.

Also, showing that their saviour was safe and sound and well-protected in the custody of the Blacks would send a powerful signal to the wizarding world.

As it were, Barty and Sirius had also become a lot less rusty, dueling-wise, and had even become comfortable enough with their skill level to let Harry come and watch a couple times. The boy had deemed it brilliant and wanted to start right away but the Trace made such fancies impossible.

Until they were at school, even the most noble of children had to make do with theoretical exercises only. Except for things like Potions and Flying, of course.

So they felt comfortable enough to embark on this trip. Should anyone try to do something, they wouldn't go down easily.

Barty declined the offer to join them in Gringotts itself, though, and set out to Knockturn Alley instead. They'd agreed he'd get a talisman to wear that would alter his physical appearance so he wouldn't have to rely on fallible glamours or drinking polyjuice potion whenever they were out and about.

Only problem was, there was no such thing as custom orders when it came to what he was looking for. He'd be lucky if the specialty shop who'd sold him Harry's talisman back then was still in business.

-o-

Luck proved to be on his side indeed, for he found who and what he was looking for. The shopkeeper's intelligent brown eyes bored into him and probably saw through the glamours as well. The man didn't have a prosthetic eye like that auror Moody did but he was a runemaster– who knew what kind of contraptions he'd inscribed and enchanted!

"A new face, then? What's wrong with the old one?"

"Nothing so much as the fact that it's _so_ handsome that people keep chasing me," Barty commented drily.

"Would those people happen to be aurors?"

"What's it to you? I can pay," Barty grunted, not happy with being questioned.

"You're in luck then, friend," the shopkeeper grinned. "I have what you need, even have a selection. Well, three, and one of them will make you look like a lady if that's what you're after. Otherwise, it's two."

He let Barty wear both male talismans. One turned him into a hunking barbarian of a man, easily nearing 6 foot 5 with big muscles and a chiseled jaw. He supposed this was for people who liked others to _look_ when they entered a room. He wanted the exact opposite though.

Thankfully, the next talisman made him look like, well, what he suspected an accountant to look like? Wearing the talisman, he was about 5 foot 10 with brown hair, brown eyes, a clean-shaven face and nothing at all noteworthy about his appearance.

"Perfect," he declared and paid a ludicrous amount of money to buy it.

Next, he took up position opposite Gringotts' entrance and waited for his charges to come back out. They were quite a while though and Barty noted with interest and not a little trepidation how more and more people seemed to have surreptitiously gathered around the entrance.

Word must have spread.

Cursing the curiosity of the wizarding world, Barty slipped his wand from his holster into his hand and waited patiently.

After 2 hours must have passed, Sirius and Harry finally emerged from the bank. Immediately, the mob descended upon them. Well, tried to. Barty had changed position in the meantime and was now waiting crouched on the marble steps of the bank.

With a muttered "_Protego_!" an invisible shield had the first wizards draw back as if struck. Harry's eyes met his and Barty nodded at him. The boy told Sirius he'd found him and the man nodded back at his new face.

"I have found my godson, as I said I would," Sirius told the gathered mob in an aristocratic voice. "He's been at the Black family estate because we are his closest wizarding blood family and Mr. Dumbledore had no right to keep him from us. That is all I will say on this matter."

"We want to meet him," one of the onlookers demanded and several others seconded that motion.

"He's a nine-year-old boy," Sirius reminded them, shielding Harry behind him. "You will let us through undisturbed or I will have to call the aurors. This is no way to treat a _child_, no matter how well-known."

"Mr. Black, Ignaz Hawthorne from the Daily Prophet, may we ask you and your godson a couple questions?"

Drawn in by the commotion, the mob was steadily growing and Barty poured more power into his shield. This was not at all how this was supposed to go. Behind Sirius and Harry, the goblin guards were watching the exchange and he saw one of them press a hidden panel on the wall behind him.

He nodded again at Harry. They had to play for time here.

"I will answer three questions," Harry told the crowd and immediately, there was silence.

It only lasted so long though because suddenly _everyone _wanted to ask a question. Harry looked overwhelmed and pointed randomly at a middle-aged woman who beamed when she was chosen.

"Mr. Potter, my daughter Ginny has been sending you a letter on your birthday every year but she's never gotten an answer. Can you tell us why you don't reply to your fans and admirers?"

Harry took a deep breath and his expression became sad.

"I'm very sorry about that, Ma'am," he told her in a clear but apologetic voice. "It was only today that I found out that my former, illegal magical guardian, Albus Dumbledore, has erected an equally as illegal mail-redirection charm over me. With the help of the goblins and my true magical guardian, Sirius Black, I have finally reverted it just today. From now on, I will be able to receive my mail again."

The crowd gaped at that and Barty could hear some calls for Dumbledore's arrest. The mail-redirection came as a surprise to him as well, for sure, but it explained a lot. Seemed they'd have to deal with lots of mail from now on. Great.

"Be aware, though, that the wards of Black Manor will keep out anything that might bring harm to my godson. Now, second question?" Sirius addressed the crowd, scanning them and selecting an older man, dressed in expensive robes.

Barty felt comfortable lowering the shield to preserve energy. The mob was seemingly satisfied, now that Harry was answering questions.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, will you be taking part in politics now, seeing as your families have hereditary seats on the Wizengamot?"

"Not yet," Sirius answered. "My grandfather Arcturus is still Lord Black and will be for the years to come. And Harry is not even of Hogwarts age! For now, we will take the time to heal and get to know each other. I won't rule out the possibilities of meeting with prospective alliance members though."

Barty frowned and looked closer at the man who had asked the question. He looked vaguely familiar. Not a death eater, as far as he knew, but he knew him from somewhere, maybe?

"Thank you for the question, Lord Ogden, who else?"

Tiberius Ogden! Of course. An illustrious member of the Wizengamot who, to his credit, had never liked Barty's father. That's why he hadn't seen him much at dinners or other social events his father had occasionally dragged him to.

Harry called on an unassuming young woman next.

"Mr. Potter, is there anything you want to tell the wizarding world? Your fans and admirers and maybe also to those who are… not?"

A good last question. Barty looked closer at her and saw her take out a notepad and a self-inking quill the second Harry addressed the crowd at large. A reporter then, and a good one.

"I'm really just Harry," the boy told the waiting crowd. "I grew up poor for the first years of my life until someone who asked the right questions found me and freed me from the prison Albus Dumbledore put me into. Since then, my life has become loads better but we never forget our humble beginnings– so please, don't think of me as some kind of infallible beacon of hope against the Dark. I'm just a child. And in that same vein: Every book that has ever been written about my life is a lie. Every account of the night my parents died is a lie. Everything you think you know about the chain of events leading up to October 31st, 1981, is a lie."

The crowd was very silent after that and he could see a few people look at the boy with different eyes than before. Most people, on the other hand, realised that this had been the last question and were starting to get agitated again.

Fortunately, that was when a small troop of armoured goblins poured out of Gringotts and took up position between Harry, Sirius and the crowd. The two were shepherded back into the bank and he saw Harry questioningly looking back at him. He shook his head. He'd stay here and watch the fallout.

Once the goblin troop was gone, the energy of the crowd changed and a few dispersed. Most stayed though, and he watched the people talking to and over each other. Human beings in a mob, Barty thought to himself, snorting a little. His master had never enjoyed attacking big crowds because people became stupid.

One or two capable wizards were a challenge but a whole crowd of them was like slaughtering cattle.

The reporter who had been responsible for the impromptu press conference, Hawthorne, was striding up to him now. Leave it up to the press to notice the little things.

"Hello," the reporter greeted him. "I saw you erect the shield that saved Mr. Potter and Mr. Black from the wild love the people hold for their saviour. May I ask about your relation to them?"

"I'm Alfred Hornby," Barty told him nonchalantly. "I grew up in South Africa and answered Lord Black's call for an international tutor for the boy."

"The boy? You mean Mr. Potter?"

"The very same," Barty affirmed. "Can't have my pupil trampled by a well-meaning but no less overwhelming mob."

"Of course not, no," Hawthorne replied suavely. The man knew he had a story here. "Is there anything else you can tell us about your pupil?"

"He's a nice boy," Barty shared, finally getting up from the marble steps. "Your average nine-year-old, really. He likes to learn about great battles, the history of his families and he's recently taken up broom-riding. He's quite good at it."

"I see," the reporter nodded, noting some words down. "I'm sure you'd like to join your companions now. Here, if you ever want the boy to give a proper interview, I'd be glad to do the honours."

Barty took the proffered card with a nod and excused himself. By now, the crowd had mostly dispersed though some people were still casting longing glances toward the bank, among them the red-headed woman who'd asked the first question. Standing behind her not insubstantial bottom were a young boy and girl, equally as red-headed. He guessed them to be around Harry's age and was uncomfortably reminded of the fact that soon, the boy would have to deal with his _admirers_ on his own.

High time to forge some fletchling allegiances, then.

-o-

Early December, the Malfoys were set to visit.

In the meantime, life in Black Manor had found a rhythm. Harry spent two hours every morning and every afternoon, sometimes more, being tutored by Barty in various subjects. Before lunch, while Sirius was still in St. Mungo's, the boy had taken to visiting old Arcturus in his quarters and learning about the history of the Black family from him.

Most of the time nowadays, the elderly man joined them in the informal parlour for lunch and dinner. Barty was not unhappy about it since Arcturus had been truly neutral during the last war and the stories and shreds of wisdom the old man shared with them were not without merit. While not as fanatically Dark as his master or Grindelwald or people like the Lestranges had been, Arcturus was still, at heart, a Dark Wizard who had knowledge about the Dark Arts that was new even for him.

The old man had soon found out that he wasn't who he claimed to be and Barty had willingly spilled the beans. In return, Arcturus had taken him to the true Black Library– a veritable treasure trove of ancient tomes and forbidden books.

"Staying neutral during the last war has almost cost me my whole family, young Barty," the old man had confided while Barty had been taking in the huge room filled to the brink with books. "I know your master is not yet dead and next time, I will not make the same mistake. The Light has forsaken my grandson and Heir and thanks to you and my great-nephew, there may yet be a next generation of Blacks."

Barty, ever mindful of appearing proper in the presence of experienced Dark Wizards, had found himself bowing low.

"I thank you for your trust, Lord Black," he had replied, avoiding meeting the man's eyes. "I will not disappoint you or yours."

"You have many secrets, young man," the old man had deduced. As old as he was, almost ninety!, his pale eyes were still as sharp as they must have been in his youth.

"I do," Barty had agreed. "Unfortunately, Azkaban and my father's prison have wrought havoc upon my Occlumency barriers and I have no way of receiving my late father's Lord ring."

"Then you need to be careful. I shall look into an idea or two I have to help you in the coming months."

With that, the man had left him alone in the Library and Barty had taken to spending almost all the time he wasn't tutoring Harry or duelling Sirius in there. If there was a place in this world where he would find everything he needed to devise a Dark ritual to resurrect his master and reunite him with his Horcruxes in the process, this was it.

So it was with great reluctance that he left the library to don the best robes he owned, put on his talisman and join Harry and Sirius in the foyer to meet the guests of the hour.

Finally, when the clock struck 11, the fire turned green and Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the flames. He hadn't changed much since Barty had seen him last– a couple more crow's feet around the eyes and wouldn't that be terrible for the vain dandy? Next, Narcissa came through, radiant as ever. She'd never taken the Mark but she had been one of them alright.

Lastly, their son stepped out. Draco Lucius Malfoy, about Harry's age and with hair as platinum blonde as both his parents. After the usual introductions, Sirius led the Malfoys to the sunroom. The adult Malfoys sat down on one of the larger settees with their son in the middle.

Sirius and Harry shared a smaller settee and Barty sat down in one of his favourite armchairs.

"I've missed this place," Narcissa said wistfully, looking around. "Nothing's changed. I feel like a little girl again. The last time I was here, I must have been your age, Draco."

The boy paled a little at being addressed directly so early. Barty wouldn't put it past Lucius to have drilled the importance of this meeting into him.

"That must have awakened lots of memories for you, mother," Draco replied slowly. "I'm glad you can see it again and I hope I will also make memories here."

"You could come visit sometime," Harry offered. "I think I should like to have a friend my age who is also a wizard."

Draco beamed at that and even Lucius' stony expression melted a little. Barty had no doubt that was what the man wanted, too.

"It's been a surprise to find out you've found the boy when even Dumbledore has been unable to," Lucius drawled. "How did you manage this feat, if you care to share it?"

"I didn't," Sirius replied easily. "Grandfather commissioned a… professional and Harry has been here ever since. When I officially got out, he contacted me and I moved here. It's really not as grand as doubtlessly lots of people make it out to be."

"Well, however it happened, I'm glad you're back with the family, dear," Narcissa cooed at Harry who blushed. "I hope we'll see more of you. We're all cousins, after all."

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry replied, looking at his feet.

"Oh, none of that," Narcissa said easily. "You may call me Cousin Narcissa if you'd like. May I call you Harry?"

"Sure, yes, I'd like that, Cousin Narcissa."

Endearing. Narcissa must have been one of the first women to be nice to the boy and he was suitably overwhelmed with the positive attention.

"Did you ask us here for a particular reason or simply to renew familial connections?" Lucius was straight to the point as ever. A boon in dire times, but in these intimate situations it felt a little too rough.

"It would certainly be alright if this was only a social call," Narcissa added, mouth a thin line following her husband's faux pas.

"No, don't worry," Sirius calmed them. "Like I said in front of Gringotts when we were… swarmed, Harry and I want to meet with potential alliance partners and find our footing in magical Britain's political landscape. And who best to start with but family?"

"Is it true what it said in the paper then?" Draco was eyeing Harry eagerly and his father looked ready to smack the child.

"You'll have to elaborate," Harry said with no small amount of trepidation.

"Your tutor," here, Draco nodded towards Barty, "said that you've started to learn how to ride brooms. Are you any good?"

"Oh, yes, I did," Harry beamed, relieved. "It's wicked to fly but I don't know how good I am. I do enjoy it, though. We had the house elves freshen up the old Quidditch pitch in the gardens. Do you want to see? Can we go see, Sirius?"

"Oh _please_ say yes, mother!"

Sirius and Narcissa exchanged a glance and both shrugged.

"Why not, sure," Sirius allowed. "But Harry, you should give your cousin one of your warmer cloaks while you're outside. It's getting cold. And you'll take Alfy with you to look over you."

Both boys eagerly jumped up from their seats and Barty trailed behind them to Harry's room. _Anything_ to get away from politics. They'd agreed to leave most of the politicking to Sirius but that Barty would still be there to keep an eye on Harry lest anyone try something stupid.

-o-

With both boys bundled up to his satisfaction, Barty let Harry lead the way to the Quidditch pitch. He'd always liked Quidditch when he was younger; he'd even been a Chaser in the Ravenclaw team despite acing all his exams. He supposed that fifth year had been the last time his father had ever been proud of him.

After that, what little attention he'd had to spare for his son and his wife had been used up for his fight against the Dark Lord and so it seemed only natural to spend more time with those who planned on following his master once they'd finished their education. Then, his father would have had to pay attention to him, too.

Watching Harry and Draco, with black and blonde hair respectively, he was reminded of another duo with the same colours. Surreptitiously drawing his hand over his eyes and quickening his steps to keep up, he pushed every thought of Regulus way back down where it belonged.

"I have a Quidditch pitch, too," he heard Draco boasting. "And I've been flying since I was four."

"That's nice," Harry replied. "Alfy's a really good flyer and he's been teaching me some. Sirius, too, when he has time. His first job is getting better at the moment, says great-uncle Arcturus."

Draco looked back at Barty with a doubtful look in his pale eyes.

"He doesn't look like a flyer," the boy commented and Barty found himself quickly coming to dislike the son as much as the father.

"Looks are deceiving," Barty commented drily. "Should you come here in summer, I shall show you a thing or two."

-o-

"What did you think about Draco?"

Harry eyed Barty with an unimpressed expression on his young face. "I'm not a fan."

"The Malfoys can be a handful," Barty conceded. "I didn't want to cloud your first impression with my own misgivings about Lucius. Well, the ones apart from the fact that he's a _bloody traitor_ like the rest of 'em."

"Are we going to the Yule Ball they invited us to?"

"Ugh, surely not. We'll just argue that Sirius is not yet well enough to attend social gatherings of this magnitude. And it won't even be a lie. Maybe next year."

"He's getting better, though," Harry argued. "He smiles more. I like it when he smiles, but sometimes when he does it, he looks so empty and that makes me sad again. It's all very strange."

"Well, dementors _do_ literally suck out every happy memory you have over time," Barty shrugged. "I imagine after so many years, he doesn't have many left. I should think that what makes him happy nowadays reminds him of something similar he's experienced in the past and when he goes to remember it– there's nothing there."

There was a silence between them at that and Barty was surprised to see his hands shaking when he looked down.

"Oh Alfy," Harry whispered, taking his hands. "I'm so sorry, I'll make it all better. I'll make them pay!"

The atmosphere in the library was suddenly stifling and Barty wondered whether the books had always exuded that tomb-like feeling.

"I don't feel so good," he managed to press out before his legs gave way and he found himself kneeling.

"Alfy, is everything alright? Barty? **Sirius**!"

The shadow crouching behind a shelf of books suddenly stretched out a hand towards Harry and Barty's eyes grew huge.

"_Expecto Patronum_," Barty snarled towards it, wand drawn, but only the tiniest sliver of silver shot out.

"Barty, what are you doing? Alfy? You're scaring me!"

"Get behind me," Barty commanded in a rough voice, shoving the boy just there. "They'll have to go through me first and I got _plenty _of experience."

The shadow was closing in now and all around him he could hear the terrible sound of dementors sniffing the air. His knees were shaking but he stood his ground, determined to protect his young lord who wasn't able to use his own magic next.

"But there's nothing there, you're hallucinating things," Harry pleaded. "You're not in Azkaban anymore and you're not with your father, either, Alfy. Please come back!"

The genuine fear in the boy's voice brought Barty back to the present and he realised the shadows for the mirages they were. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned to Harry who was crying softly.

"I'm so, so sorry, Harry," Barty breathed, again sinking to his knees and hugging the boy's middle. "There is so much fucking wrong with me and it's not fair that you've had to see that."

"Does it, does it happen often?"

Repressed memories of jumping at shadows in his father's mansion while stuck under an invisibility cloak tore at his mind and still more images of waking up drenched in sweat and breathing heavily almost every night followed in their wake.

He had been so good, _so _good about not having the episodes when the boy was around and then he just _had_ to start talking about dementors and blow it all. Good job, Barty, he could hear his father say, made everyone unhappy, did you?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he kept chanting into the boy's stomach and wept while small arms cradled his head and a clear voice told him that it was going to be okay over and over.

-o-


End file.
